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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038361">i wanna kiss your lips</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke'>wretcheddyke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ficlet/Oneshot Collections [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Ficlet Collection, Ficlets, Smut, Tumblr Prompts, Whump, it's mostly gonna be smut, oneshots</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:14:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038361</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>all my M-E rated thasmin prompts i get from tumblr. mostly ficlets/one shots</p><p>find my tumblr at wretcheddyke.tumblr.com</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ficlet/Oneshot Collections [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Kneel (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>prompt: top!yaz and the doctor with a humiliation &amp; degradation kink</p><p>this is a fleabag reference NOT a master reference, pls don't come for me lol</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This team structure isn't flat,” her eyes are filled with exhaustion, the TARDIS light glimmering in her pupils as she holds Yaz’s gaze. “It’s mountainous, with me at the summit in the stratosphere, alone, left to choose. Save the poet, save the universe. Watch people burn now or tomorrow,” she looks away as if embarrassed to put so much on Yaz. She is just a girl after all, she never asked for any of this. But then, the Doctor didn’t either. “All the time I’m bombarded with impossible choices, Yaz. It’s like I live under the weight of them. Sometimes, even I can’t win. If I could just,” she pushes away from the console, arms swinging at her sides like if she did it wide enough she could fly away, “have someone tell me I’m doing the right thing, that I’m making the right choices.” When she turns to look at Yaz, her face is helpless and desperate.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor,” she takes a step closer but stops when the Doctor seems to flinch at her soft tone.</p><p> </p><p>“I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Yaz, because so far I think I've been getting it wrong.” </p><p> </p><p>Yaz ponders her next move. She feels so small next to the Doctor, with her tiny life on her tiny planet. She basks in it, the admiration she has for her. She feels safe having something—someone—bigger than herself, bigger than anything she ever thought possible. There’s a freedom in being tucked away in one little pocket amongst the great expanse of the cosmos. To be swayed by the unchangeable tides of fate, knowing her own limitation and being at peace with them. The Doctor doesn’t have that. She knows there is nothing she can say to a woman capable of holding the fate of the universe in her hands that will give her solace. So instead she steps closer, straightens her neck to make herself tall and says, “kneel.”</p><p> </p><p>A flash of confusion crosses the Doctor eyes, a protest forming on her lips. She clenches her jaw for a moment, fighting every instinct that tells her not to show subservience or weakness.</p><p> </p><p>“Just kneel,” Yaz says again, firm and assuring.</p><p> </p><p>When she looks in her eyes she sees the resistance melt and the pain around her expression goes with it. She sinks painfully slowly to her knees. The sight makes Yaz’s legs turn to jelly.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’gonna do exactly what I say,” Yaz feel like she’s been possessed as the words slip out uncharacteristically confident, “d’you understand?”</p><p> </p><p>The Doctor’s pupils are dark as sin as she look up, “Yaz, I—”</p><p> </p><p>“Shhh,” she reaches out to grab her chin, thumb resting on her lips to mute her causing the Doctor to look down at the offending digit with wide, crossed-eyes. She breaks character for a second when the Doctor looks up again, “let me take the weight — just for tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Through her inky eyes, the Doctor nods silently.</p><p> </p><p>“Go to your room. No—don’t get up,” she juts her chin towards the floor and watches the realisation wash over the Doctor. “Crawl.”</p><p> </p><p>She holds her gaze her a long moment, wrestling with her own instincts as much as with Yaz. She looks slightly indignant but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she closes her mouth and returns to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz lets out a deep breath as soon as the eye-contact is broken only to gasp another when she sees the Doctor on her hands and knees, crawling towards the corridor. Her heart is beating so loudly in her ears she can hardly hear the sounds her shoes make as she follows her. <em>What the fuck am I doing?</em> She wipes sweaty palms on her jeans.</p><p> </p><p>When they reach the bedroom, the Doctor is flushed red with either exertion or embarrassment. She kneels before Yaz again at the foot of the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Yaz murmurs through a shaky breath, “y’doing so well, Doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>She sighs and her eyes flutter at the words like she’s letting herself bask in them. When Yaz pushes her fingers through her hair, she tilts her head back. With her hair ruffled and her face so flushed, she looks like she’s already been fucked.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you wet right now, Doctor?”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes snap open at such an explicit question — they’re dark and surprised. Yaz holds her nerve, nervous the Doctor will laugh at her and stand up to leave.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she exhales and it steals Yaz’s breath. It’s a voice she’s never heard the Doctor use before; slightly worried but devoid of anger or irritation.</p><p> </p><p>“Say it,” Yaz juts her chin again. She’s not entirely sure where this side of her came from but with every surrender she feels lit on fire — with desire and anxiety. </p><p> </p><p>“I…” she hesitates like the words won’t come, wiping her palms on her knees like Yaz had moments ago. “I’m wet,” she says it quickly, shyly.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz smirks — she can’t help herself. Somehow she’s managed to get a God on her knees, blushing and desperate. She feels a rush of heat to her core as the Doctor fiddles with the fabric at her knees.<em> Clothes. I should do somethin’ about those.</em></p><p> </p><p>In one swoop she bends down to pull the Doctor’s shirts up and over her head, returning for the bra just as callously. She chucks them to the side and watches the Doctor’s chest rise and fall. She’s seen her naked before, plenty of times, but somehow the skin looks softer now. Yaz steps in close—her pelvis right up in the Doctor’s personal space, in front of her face. “Look at me,” she commands and the Doctor does — looking up under her lashes while Yaz ghosts her fingertips over her nipples. Pleasure swims in huge hazel irises. “Stand up.”</p><p> </p><p>She gets to her feet slowly, never breaking Yaz command and looking away. It’s almost a bit intimidating when she stands an inch or so taller than Yaz and she’s forced to remember the power she holds out there in the universe. But they’re not out there — things are different here.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz undoes her trousers for her.<em> Should I be making her do this?</em> But she likes the way it makes her feel in control, like she could do this whenever she wanted. Just go up and take her clothes. She pushes trousers and pants down in one go and it feels oddly like pantsing someone but she brushes that aside. “Turn around,” she nods to the bed.</p><p> </p><p>When the Doctor has her back to her, she pushes her fingers into the back of her hair and gradually pushes her head down. Sinks it till her face is flush against fresh linen and she’s bent over the edge of the bed. She pulls away, running her fingers down her exposed spine. “Y’think you’re a God now, Doctor?” She leans over her, lips just inches from her ear as she gropes at her ass, “you think a God would act so shamelessly?”</p><p> </p><p>She clenches her eyes shut and grips the sheets beneath her, shaking her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Answer me,” she whispers.</p><p> </p><p>“No—I’m not a God, Yaz. I never was,” she takes a quick breath when Yaz pushes two fingers through her wet folds.</p><p> </p><p>She feels like warm honey and velvet under Yaz’s fingers and she has to blink a few times to focus. “What are you?”</p><p> </p><p>She was expecting nobody, nothing, a self deprecation to unburned herself from the weight of her name.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m—I’m yours, Yaz.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck.</em> She wasn’t expecting that. “Roll over,” Yaz sighs, trying her best to mask the dryness in her throat.</p><p> </p><p>When she does her knees immediately part, dropping wide open while she sits up on her elbows. It feels like she’s offering herself up, putting herself on display like a prized gift waiting to be taken.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz puts her palm on her clit, nowhere near enough stimulation for her to get off — simply rests it there, possessive.<em> I’m still wearing my jacket.</em> The cuff of her sleeve looks weird next to her soft cunt. It’s like having shoes on the bed<em>. That’s stupid.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Do you want me to fuck you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Please, Yaz—”</p><p> </p><p>“Y’think you deserve that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I—I’ll earn it. I’ll do whatever you say, Yaz,” she’s lifting her chin like she’s searching for Yaz’s lips, “whatever you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop talking,” Yaz snaps. She thinks this might be when she should turn to tables, get the Doctor to eat her out or finger her. That’s probably what she wants. She wants to be used. She wants to be told what to do. But there’s too much honesty in her voice.<em> I started this.</em> She curses herself for starting something she can’t commit to all the way. The vulnerability that seeps from her eyes—pleading, desperate—compels Yaz to look after her. Even if it’s not what she wants, what she doesn’t believe she’s worthy of it.</p><p> </p><p>She twists her hand so her fingers can push into her entrance, eliciting a gasp. It’s so gentle at first the Doctor groans like she might cry. Yaz is all conflicted; split between wanting to soothe her and give her what she wants, which is so at odds with what she deserves. “You’re so wet, Doctor. I bet you could take more, couldn’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she sighs through Yaz’s pumping fingers, “for you.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s almost hurtful for Yaz to hear her degrade herself, place herself below Yaz in the pecking order of things, but she brushes it off and focuses on the thrill instead. She pushes another finger inside her and she groans at the stretch.</p><p> </p><p>“When y’look in the mirror,” she traces her lips over the Doctor’s neck, “I want you to see me.” Her teeth sink into the sofa pale flesh and she sucks, hard. It’s remarkable how easily the skin bruises beneath her. It won’t last long but for the next day or so they’ll remain as perfect reminders. “I want you to know who owns you. Tell me who you answer to, Doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You, Yaz… Fuck. I’m yours. I answer to you.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Look at me,” she says again.</p><p> </p><p>The Doctor fights the desire to let her eyes roll back into her head. She’s so close, so nearly there. When she looks up at Yaz, they’re clouded with desire.</p><p> </p><p>“Do what I say,” she looks her dead in the eyes with a stern glare. “Come around my fingers.”</p><p> </p><p>Almost immediately the Doctor shudders and her cunt clenches wildly around Yaz’s fingers. <em>“Oh, Yaz,”</em> she groans as her head falls back against the covers and pleasure ripples through her.</p><p> </p><p>“Shh…” Yaz coos over her loud moans as she fucks her through it. “Good girl,” she whispers and it sends a second shudder down her spine.</p><p> </p><p>They’re still for a long while as the Doctor comes down. Yaz is so new to this, she’s not sure when their regular roles return. The lines are so blurred, she’s sure the Doctor’s still isn’t ready to go back to being The Doctor, isn’t sure if she’s ready for genuine kindness either. She decides to take off her jacket and shirt —evening the playing field slightly—before pulling the Doctor’s head against her chest to hold her. It’s still not them—she’s still in control and the Doctor might find this belittling in any other scenario—but soothes nonetheless.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Angels (M)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>prompt: "i'm pregnant"</p><p>(tw: heartbreak. this one's really sad, sorry!)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“I tried to be good for you, Doctor,” She’s old now, oh so old, with those lines, so terrifying to an immortal, cresting her eyes. “Tried not to make an impact. Tried not to be real. For so long I waited for you, lived a life knowing it would be erased as soon as y’could find me.” Yaz puts her teacup down again, expensive china rattling in the saucer. There’s a sad smile on her face, a hint of apology in her eyes. “But y’can’t live your life like that. Waitin’ for something that’ll happen to someone else. Some other version of me.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s only been a month for the Doctor. No rest, no sleep. A month of endless nights scouring history books, photographs, graves, death certificates, any sign as to where the stone angel had dropped her. <em>Her</em>. Her Yaz, there one second, gone the next. Just like Amy and Rory. Just like all of them. Vanished with a final scream.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like more tea?”</p><p> </p><p>The Doctor can only nod her head. She knows what’s coming. She dare not open her mouth lest the tears that threaten spring too early.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought about you all the time, every day. Don’t think I didn’t. I never forgot you, Doctor.” There’s an aged hand in hers, running soothing circles in her palm. They look the same age now. She’s probably in her mid-thirties. It’s in her looks, her voice, her demeanour: age. “It were torture every day not knowing where you were, if you were ok.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.” It comes out in a breath and she can feel her lip quivering already. <em>Stop it.</em> “I never stopped looking for you.” Time can be cruel, too. Dropping her in Cornwall, 1995 for her to stumble into the woman she’d been searching for, seventeen years too late.</p><p> </p><p>Guilt flashes through Yaz’ eyes and she gives that sad smile again.</p><p> </p><p>“I can go back,” she knows it’s futile, “just tell me when. I can go and get you now.” She inches closer on the sofa. She’s being cruel and she knows it. Asking so much of the stranger in front of her. Asking her to erase the last seventeen years of her life for her. <em>Please,</em> she wants to beg. <em>Please choose me.</em></p><p> </p><p>Yaz lets her palm fall to her belly. Cradles it there for a moment and the Doctor feels her hearts shatter. She knows what that means.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m pregnant, Doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>The room is suddenly devoid of oxygen. She feels the tears before she realises she’s crying. Hot droplets leave tracks down her cheeks and Yaz only looks at her with guilt and pity. “That’s amazing!” The lie is croaky in her throat and tastes like poison. “Yaz, I’m so happy for you!” Through her cracking voice, it’s a poor performance.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she wipes a tear from the Doctor’s cheek, “I tried not to fall in love with someone else, I promise I tried.”</p><p> </p><p>It wares and it erodes and it takes.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasmin Khan. Don’t you ever apologise for loving.” She forces a meek smile and suddenly she’s up, standing over the sofa, looking down at the woman she once knew. If she doesn’t leave now, she never will.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you could still find me…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d never do that to you, Yaz.” She means it. How could she? Steal a future to most likely replace it with danger and death? Yasmin Khan was always safer without her. “Your life is yours.”</p><p> </p><p>The look of relief that flashes over her face stings like water on lye. She looks at her boots as she twists on the lush cream carpet and turns to leave, to walk out of her life forever.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor…”</p><p> </p><p>She turns to look once more, a final glance at the woman she loves, immortalised in her mind’s eye for eternity as she sends herself to hell. The poet’s choice; not the lover’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Live great lives.”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Lets hang out sometime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>(whumptober prompt: waking up restrained)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*BIG WHUMP* and a bit gory</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The floor slides about before Yaz’s eyes, spinning and waving like some optical illusion created to send her back to sleep. It reminds her, in some distant way, of the swirling cartoon eyes of the snake in <em>The Jungle Book</em>. She smiles as she rememberers watching it on the roll-in TV in Redlands primary when it was too wet for the kids to play outside.</p><p> </p><p>She’s warm and the swirling concrete soothes her. She feels weightless, gliding across a cloud like a ghost in some dreamlike way. It’s quite frankly peaceful and she thinks for a moment about slipping back under into the inky depths of sleep. But then a splash of red makes the image daunting.<em> I’m upside-down,</em> she thinks. The red drips again, splattering on the rough surface. <em>That’s the floor.</em></p><p> </p><p>When Yaz wriggles her arms she finds them stuck behind her back. The moment she does, memories start to trickle back in. An old man and a curled moustache and an abattoir.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor?” She groans, using all the strength she has to lift her head against this planet’s immeasurable gravitational pull. Her ankles are bound by black straps and held up by a sharp metal hook. <em>Shit. That’s not good. </em>Blood trickles into her left eye and it stings when she closes it, clogging and reddening her vision. The memory of a harsh blow across her cheekbone coming back to her.</p><p> </p><p>Something prickling the side of her neck tells her not to look. That sixth sense feeling she’s learnt to trust that tells her when she’s being followed or stalked or preyed upon. It heats the side of her body and she slows her breathing. <em>Don’t look. Don’t look. </em>But what choice does she have?</p><p> </p><p>The sight makes her stomach lurch as flickering florescent lights flutter. Strung up next to her, on his very own hook, is the bellboy from yesterday. Yaz recognises him from his name tag. Jonah. His face is swollen from hanging here so long. The skin around his head is purple and speckled, his eyes bulge and his tongue sticks out. It’s almost comedic, a face a funny uncle might pull to tease children. Still, something around the eyes tells Yaz he died in fear.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor!” She calls again and she can hear the fear in her voice. It echos about the place, bouncing off the machinery and the corrugated metal walls. Something putrid fills the air, the smell of the rotting flesh of all types of alien species. And now human. <em>Shhh, not of that</em>, she thinks, taking slow breaths through her mouth to steady the wave of nausea.</p><p> </p><p><em>Plan. I need a plan, the Doctor always has a plan.</em> She tugs on the binding around her wrists, squirming her hands to see if they’ll fit through.<em> Or a least a P.</em></p><p> </p><p>A clunking above her head sends a jolt of fear right through her. Whatever she’s hooked onto has started to move, a conveyor track gradually feeding her to an untimely end.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, no!!” She wrestles with her restraints, flopping around like a fish out of water. “Wait!!”</p><p> </p><p>The panic makes her chest tight, building up her throat as she gasps the putrescent air. The track moves tauntingly slowly, edging closer and closer to the grumbling machinery. There’s a sick sound of something, someone, getting shredded, a few spots ahead of Yaz. She hears the bones, or maybe they were shells, getting crunched under metal and some fluid only comparable to blood getting splattered on the wall.</p><p> </p><p>Her eye stings and her body aches and she struggles and struggles. It’s no good. Something has to give and it won’t be the restraints, the material far too strong to be ripped or stretched.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz takes three sharp breaths. She bites her lip and she shuts her eyes as tight as they’ll go. Then she closes her fingers tight around her thumb and jerks.</p><p> </p><p>She screams when the ligament snaps with a pop. Pain blisters all the way up to her elbow, sending waves of nausea right through her. She doesn’t stop to think about it, she wriggles her wrist around again and releases a relieved sigh when her broken thumb easily slips through the restraint.</p><p> </p><p>There’re only two more spaces (spaces is easier to think than bodies) before the bellboy. With her arms free, Yaz musters all her strength to curl her body up in a most impressive sit-up. She grabs onto her own feet to rest for a moment and is relieved to find them buckled instead of zip-tied. She takes three quick breaths again before latching her unbroken hand onto the track, holding her breath as she undoes the clasp with her fingers and the heel of her palm.</p><p> </p><p>The pain is a welcome distraction when the buckle snaps open and she plummets. The hand on the track slips and she hits the hard slab beneath with shocking impact. “Fuck,” she groans, the wind being knocked clean out of her. She kicks off the straps, holding her hand close to her chest on instinct.</p><p> </p><p>The bellboy’s body splatters across her cheek when she stands just in time to see the metal teeth consume him. His broken fingers are the last thing she sees and she gives a sobbed laugh. Is it only a human thing to laugh at horrible things? The tears are hot on her face, washing away the blood and matter. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers and then turns to leave. </p><p> </p><p>The suns are hot on her face when she kicks open the metal door, the sand filling her shoes right away. It seems to cook whatever organic material that resides on her skin and the smell gets impossibly worse.</p><p> </p><p>“There!!” She hears a familiar voice to her right. Ryan taps the Doctor on her shoulder and they both suddenly start running towards her.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz!! There you are, we’ve been looking…” The Doctor trails off when she sees Yaz up close. Her appearance must be a shock: her right side drenched in blood and matter, her left bruised and beat and bleeding. She can already feel her face swelling from the blow and she dreads to think what damage the fall caused.</p><p> </p><p>“Fat lot of use you were,” she jabs before she even realises how angry she is.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz, what happened?” The Doctor looks white as a sheet, eyes wide and her eyebrows creased.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she spits but she can’t rid her voice of the cracking teariness. She moves to shove past the Doctor, heading back towards the TARDIS but a hand catches hers.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz…” She says softly.</p><p> </p><p>“…I broke my thumb,” she says over her quivering lip. She can’t quite muster <em>I watched Jonah’s body get crushed</em> or <em>I’ve never felt that close to dying before.</em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” the Doctor whispers and Yaz knows it’s to replace<em> I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. </em>“Let’a get you back to the TARDIS. She’ll look after you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want her,” Yaz mumbles and she knows it stung when the Doctor winces.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” is all she can say, twisting her arm around Yaz’s waist and guiding her towards home. </p>
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